Lovers in London
by mikechang
Summary: Gwen is in London for her Art degree. She loves London for its beauty, but something else catches her eye and makes her fall in love with the city even more. Gwen and Courtney are from opposite ends yet they share such a daunting past. Read the tale of the two females who bond over the past and learn to take over their own futures together. [SHIPS: Gwourtney (main) Duncney]
1. Prologue

**AUTHOR NOTE: Hi! I haven't made a fanfiction (or any story) in a while because of school commitments, so my writing is a little off in this story. But I have finished school for the next year of my life, so I am definitely going to be updating this account more often!**

**I rated this as M because of certain actions that will occur later (I don't want to give anything away), but it is quite a cheesy story also! So if that's your thing, then read on!**

**Prologue**

Ah, London. How I adore the quiet rush that you give me every day. All of the passengers seem to be in such a hurry yet it's never as rough as the busy streets of Brooklyn. The sweet smell of coffee floating through the tube, the pretentious sound of conversations from people that seemed to have their lives in such a great order, and the depressingly therapeutic grey skies. London is definitely my city, it is everything that I care for and it's the place where everything fell into place. I simply came here for a semester trip with my University because my professor loves the Tate Modern museum and pretty much _forced _the entire class to go. I was so resistant on going, but man, was I glad that he made me go onto this trip. You may be thinking that I fell in love with the city – that's where you're wrong. It wasn't the city that I loved; sure, it was beautiful and everything that I've been dreaming of since I was a kid, but really, it's where I met _the _love of my life. It's a strange story between us, you wouldn't expect it, neither did I. We come from such opposite ends of the world and it's such a disgustingly beautiful tale that I never get tired of telling. So, it's always great to start from the very beginning – and this is what I like to call '_The First Glance_'.


	2. Chapter 1 - The First Glance

**Chapter One: The First Glance**

I was sat in my favourite coffee shop, _COSTA_, ordering a Red Berry smoothie, because I hated coffee. I had my art book out and I was sketching a drawing of the sunrise that I'd watched that same morning. It was an oddly quiet morning in the coffee shop, especially for a Monday, which made it much nicer and more relaxing for me. I sat there peacefully for a couple of hours where I just sketched and coloured consistently, hardly looking up. I was content within my idleness from the world, that was, until, this one girl sat a few seats in front of me. She had silky brunette hair that touched her shoulders perfectly, with a neat grey jumper, ironed white shirt and a tight pair of green pants. I felt her brisk past my shoulder as she went to sit down and somehow felt the urge to gaze at her physique. The way her tight jumper fit round her perfectly rounded breasts. I stared at her flat waist and the fact that her hair bounced every time she moved even an inch. She was gorgeous, and I loved it. I dropped my pencil down and my eyes fixated on her – I couldn't move them. She held a cup of a vanilla latte so firmly as she wrote onto a sheet of A4 paper so calculably. I wanted to speak to her, so of course I didn't. I couldn't. So I just stared. She quickly looked up and we made the most awkward eye contact I have ever been apart of. Yet… it was so wonderful. I'm not one to believe in love at first sight, in fact, since I broke up with my previous boyfriend, I've been doubting that love even existed at all. But, somehow, I felt something with this girl. She gave a sharp look with her eyes and immediately forgot about it whilst getting lost in her work. Why was I so attracted to her? Why did I feel the need to keep staring? I stopped myself before I tempted her to file a restraining order – she looked like the type. I went back to my drawing and found it incredibly difficult to do so.

The drawing was becoming pathetic – I was usually so great at this but somehow I couldn't get it to match the picture that I had taken with my _iPhone_. So, I frustratingly turned over the page in defeat and decided to draw something completely different. I looked up for inspiration and I found it immediately. This wasn't creepy. She wouldn't know, and, it's art. It's just for artistic purposes. It was nothing more. I swear! I sat there with my left hand under my chin whilst my eyes were fixated were fixated on the girl. I drew her rounded head with her pointy chin, I made sure that there were three shades of brown in her hair, one of which matched the colour of her eyes, and her clothing was all of one shade, as she had that ideal touch to her attire. By the time I had finished drawing the portrait, I looked up to see something that I wish I had never seen. Those small and pink lips that I eagerly drew on the piece of paper were touching another person's! Her hands caressed his muscly arm as the kiss became more passionate. My love struck face dropped into one of pain, despair and a selfish betrayal. I don't know why I felt this way; I didn't know her, she didn't know me, we hadn't even exchanged names! But then things turned for the worse. After the kiss ended, I saw the guy's face. He turned over and immediately noticed me. His face replicated mine, but it was more of a surprised and guilty look.

"_Gwen?!_" he shouted across the few tables. "_Gwen?!_" He wiped his mouth, as if he were in the wrong place at the wrong time and had done something he shouldn't have. This, my friends, was Duncan. My ex boyfriend. He was a jerk. He lied to me consistently, cheated on me multiple times and even stole from me on several occasions. He hurt me and left me scarred for so long, and here he was, across the border in another continent, kissing the girl that I'd been admiring for the past hour. It was silly of me to even have these feelings, selfish even, but to see the boy that robbed me off of everything that I once loved now in the city that I adored with the girl that I had similar feelings for… That rubbed me the wrong way. And my angry tears were too hard to fight back. They dropped down slowly, and then all at once. It was such a fast moment that I had to rush out of the coffee shop and into the streets to make sure that neither of them saw my true emotions.

I lay my head on the brick wall as tears fell down my face. I sobbed so loud that I knew that I was receiving odd looks from people around me. As I lay on the wall, a hand grabbed my shoulder firmly. Duncan.

"_Get off of me you jerk, I never want to-_" I stopped myself as I turned around to push him away. It wasn't Duncan. As I turned, my eyes met the soft skinned, wide eyed beauty that was across the coffee shop. It was the mystery girl.

"_Are you okay?_" she asked. Even her voice was angelic. "_You seemed pretty distressed back there. Is there anything I can do for you?_" Her eyes batted slowly, it almost made me smile. But before I could even respond her hand was grabbed by somebody else and she was pulled behind a large figure with a stained black t-shirt.

"_Hi Gwen. Nice seeing you here_," Duncan stood there with a smirk smile as he looked down on me. "_Nice to see you… moved on, like me._" Jerk. "_I'll see you around._" He laughed and pulled the girl away, and I was left there. No name, no number, nothing to remember her by besides her voice in my head and the drawing in my art pad. I didn't know why I felt so intrigued, attracted and hurt, but what I did know is that it meant something.


	3. Chapter 2 - Artsy Distress

**Chapter Two: Artsy Distress**

I lay in my room the next morning after a restless night and noticed that my room was full of paint and paintings of poor quality. All I could see was lots of black, lots of red and lots of art that distinguished suicide. When Duncan and I were dating I went through the worst time of my life. I hated myself and everything I produced. My high school art teacher was so concerned with the projects that I'd been creating that she'd told me to go to a weekly counselling session. I would be painting a bunch of abstract pieces that consisted of lots of red and black, as well as distinctive pieces that indicated suicide.

I thought I was over it. I thought that I was a better person. It was such a long time ago! Why is it _still _hurting me? I began to cry.

After I'd finished my crying that lasted a good solid two hours, I got up to start my day. I slowly walked to the mirror and noticed the dark makeup that was previously placed around my eyes spread further and my skin fell even paler than before. I ran my dried black hand through my messy hair and small tears fell out of my eyes. I couldn't go out and face the world today. I couldn't bare the fact that somebody that I hadn't seen in so long still had so much control over my life. But why? Goddamit, _why_!? What has he done to me? And then it hit me. It wasn't the fact that I wasn't over him, it was the fact that I was into something else. Freedom. And as soon as he came, that sense of liberty diminished. I'd found a city that I could walk out into without feeling attached to a leash as well as finding somebody that I genuinely felt an attraction for. Only to finding out that the leash is still very much knotted round my throat and that girl in the coffee shop would never belong to me. I put a hand to the tears that fell down my cheek, trying to wipe them away. I needed to be free. All of those therapy sessions, the blood, the pain, the heartbreak, all of it couldn't be gone so soon.

After quickly combing my hair and fixing my makeup I went outside to go to my first class of the day: Art History. We were studying one of my favourite painters, Raphael. I found so much beauty in his work that I admired, especially when we were given the opportunity to look into his philosophies. Raphael is a painter that inspired me to actually become an artist today. I love everything about him and he's part of why I am the way I am.

However, in today's lesson I couldn't concentrate. My professor was speaking about the _Red Chalk _painting, one of my favourites, but I couldn't keep my mind on the lecture. Instead, Duncan kept crawling up onto the screen, and I was the only one affected by it. I would blink and he'd be gone. That gnarly smirk of his that was frustratingly iconic kept popping up so I decided to close my eyes.

"_Why are you hurting me like this!?_" he would yell at me. "_I love you so much and you treat me like garbage!_" It appeared that blocking out his face just resuscitated his voice and the times where he would manipulate me back into his arms. I hated those moments. I hated how I would be in the right but was forced to feel a wide sense of guilt and anger, towards myself! His strong hands clasped around my waist the second I caved in, and there was literally no escape each time. My eyes were closed but tears were still being shed, so much that I had to get myself out of the building. I picked up my books and exited with no questions being asked. I gasped constantly and dropped my books onto the ground as soon as I reached the streets. The memories were flooding back, even now when I'd had a bit of space. I ran to the park with my books still outside of the university and cried on the dry grass. I placed my head on the ground and pounded it with my balled fists. I was glad that there was nobody around because I couldn't face somebody, I wouldn't be able to handle myself.

Those years spent trying to remove Duncan from my memory have now been wasted, all because I was so reliant on the fact that I would never have to see him again. My biggest regret was the fact that I didn't get any closure, and the fact that he had what I wanted. I was left alone, distracted and hurt whilst he had the perfect partner, knew how to actually smile, and could live everyday without hating himself. Or at least, he was able to hide it. Something that I was never any good at.

After an hour of laying on the grass I went to the coffee shop to calm myself down further. My usual barrister greeted me with his thick French accent and his face lit up as he remembered something.

"_Gwen! Hallo! How are you? I've got something for you!_" his smile was slightly infectious that it made me almost replicate it. I didn't verbally respond as he turned around to get my "gift" too soon for him to hear my crackling voice. He came back with a thin box with a note on it, and then soon gave me a free smoothie with it. I went to a booth and read the note, it had a number on it, nothing else. Then I opened up the box and it was my art pad – turned to the page of the drawing I did of the girl from my last visit, with another note on it that read:

"_Very nice portrait you drew of me. Would love to speak to you one day xx"_

My heart sank, but not in the same way that it did when I saw Duncan's green hair, but in the way it did when I coloured the three shades of brown in the girls' hair. Was she really sending this to me?


End file.
